


lipstick and leather

by RattyCatty



Series: Kinktober 2019 [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Clothing, F/F, Kinktober 2019, Leather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RattyCatty/pseuds/RattyCatty
Summary: Faith likes leather.Day 24 of Kinktober 2019
Relationships: Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers
Series: Kinktober 2019 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505216
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24
Collections: Kinktober 2019





	lipstick and leather

**Author's Note:**

> it is neither kinktober or 2019 anymore but this has been sitting in my documents for a year and yknow what. fuck it. faith and buffy have been my OG ship since i knew what shipping was and writing for them is Intimidating but i hope this little short thing is ok~

Buffy is all cotton and denim, pastels and summer shades and comfortable yet stylish in that specific shallow Valley-girl way. She’s breezy camisoles and blue jeans and cutesy skirts, soft sweaters and simple hoodies. Her room is the same – frilly curtains and floral bedding and soft plushie toys that Faith pokes at idly while lounging across Buffy’s bed post-slay one night. Everything about Buffy, besides her inescapable _slayer-ness,_ is refreshingly soft and cute and uptight, and Faith hates it. Yearns for it. Feels disdain for the tacky patterns and icky adorableness of it all and yet craves the innocence and childishness she never had. Wishes she could feel comfortable in a pink dress in a childhood bedroom and all that stuff Buffy takes for granted.

Whatever.

Faith likes leather. Tight, heavy leather that smells safe and clings to her skin and forms a tough impenetrable armour around her. She looks badass. She looks sexy. She _is_ both _,_ and she becomes unapproachable. Unapproachable, hard, except to Buffy who seems simultaneously drawn to her and repulsed by her from the beginning. B’s the straightest of the straight, but Faith sees the way she checks her out sometimes. Her eyes linger too long on her glossy PVC top at the Bronze when they dance and never quite dart away from her ass fast enough when they patrol and it’s cute, really.

So it’s really no surprise when Little Miss Uptight goes non-verbal and breathless as Faith victoriously pins her to the bed during a late-night sparring session in her motel room. “Gotcha,” Faith laughs, and Buffy says nothing, just fidgets beneath her in a guise of throwing her off and regaining control until a leather-clad thigh slips beneath her skirt and presses hard against her centre. The blonde stops fidgeting and her pink lips part, and then her hips roll slowly, tentatively.

Faith watches raptly as Buffy begins to rock against her, barely breathing in case she shatters whatever this is and frightens the other girl away. The room is silent but for the shitty bathroom fan, the creak of her pants and the bedsprings, that goddamn stuttering heater and Blondie’s breathy moans.

She won’t look at her, but Buffy’s cheeks are pink with pleasure as their hips move, as she bucks up into Faith’s gently thrusting thigh. When she finally drives into her orgasm, she cries out, _oh, god!_ and squeezes her eyes shut, and the brunette feels a vague release of warm over her thigh. Faith exhales, shaky, strained, and drops her head low beside Buffy’s, wishing to whatever stupid God there is that she could feel the soaked cotton better through her pants.

And Faith doesn’t _do_ relationships, she doesn’t do cuddly, but as Buffy comes down and catches her breath, she can’t resist stroking her fingers up the side of that soft knitted sweater. It smells of laundry detergent and fruity body spray and a hint of fresh sweat, so Buffy. Unfamiliar, safe. Faith wishes it was on the floor instead. Faith wants to rip and tear it and muss up all that practiced, clean perfection.

“I should probably, uh, go – you know how mom’s been since the whole running away thing,” Buffy mumbles as she sits up and clears her throat, neatens her hair shyly. She doesn’t look at her, refuses to meet her eye, and Faith sits back on her haunches and tries not to feel stung. She shouldn’t – this is only what she does all the damn time. “Yeah, right, sure. Catch ya later,” she says brashly and gets up to busy herself with the TV if only to not watch the other girl leave.

And after that, there’s just Buffy’s boyfriend drama and an accidental murder and shit hitting the fan. Faith keeps her trap shut about how good Buffy had felt against her, even through thick leather, and about yearning for safety and soft laundered wool. Keeps her stupid mouth shut about all of it, acts like it never happened and Buffy means nothing. Is nothing.

* * *

Buffy rolls up to Faith’s mayor-sponsored pad in leather pants, leather jacket, like she’s playing dress up. She looks good. Older. Furious, and she’s not fucking around this time. There’s that look in her eyes, different to anything Faith’s seen from her before. Still though, Faith teases and grins and flirts. “Give us a kiss,” she says softly, and gets a fist in the face. It’s them.

Her own knife in her gut on the roof, and it’s almost intimate. It’s easy to forget there’s a boy between them, but then, this was never really about the boy, was it? Buffy stares, a mix of disbelief and guilt and sadness and victory, her lip bloody, and the whole thing is a betrayal, but Faith drops from the roof, falls, and thinks at least she had Buffy’s attention, just for a minute.


End file.
